


Whirlwind

by shoulderpadutopia



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Borderline crack, Cats, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderpadutopia/pseuds/shoulderpadutopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you like animals?” Laurent asked quietly. </p><p>“Pardon me, exalted?” Nikandros answered.</p><p> </p><p>(Laurent gets a cat.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even know. I was sick of writing angsty stuff, so this happened. I am sorry.

**Scene 1: The King of Vere Asks for Advice**

Nikandros was sitting at his desk in the war-room, sorting through trade agreements, when he heard the sound of someone tentatively clearing their throat. 

When he looked up, the King of Vere was hovering in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. Damen was standing behind him, nudging him forward. 

“Go on. Ask him.” Damen said. “Laurent, ask him.” There was a small pause. 

“Do you like animals?” Laurent asked quietly. 

“Pardon me, exalted?” Nikandros answered. 

“Do you. Like. Animals.” Impatience laced every syllable. 

Nikandros shared a mystified glance with Damen, who was still smiling stupidly in the doorway. It was well known in Delpha that their Kyroi had an immense fondness for dogs and horses. Nikandros also owned an extensive collection of exotic reptiles, although they tended to be much less friendly. 

“Yes, I do,” said Nikandros. Damen chuckled and Laurent shot a venomous glance back at him. Damen held his hands up in surrender and with a small nod, turned into the hall to leave them in privacy. Why did Nikandros feel as if he had wandered into a lion’s den? 

Laurent seemed even stiffer than before. Normally so insouciantly relaxed, this ineptness was taking Nikandros by surprise. A few moments passed before he gingerly spoke. “I have only ever owned horses,” said Laurent. “Damen said—“ he cut himself off, searching for the words. “He wishes us to be friendly with one another. I am to seek your council on what type of animal might best,” another pause, “ _Fit_ _me_.” Those words were foreign in Laurent’s mouth. They were Damen’s, surely. 

“I will do my best to help in whatever way I can.” Nikandros assured. Laurent came over to him and handed him a sheet of parchment that he had been holding behind his back. It was well worn, as if Laurent had folded and unfolded it many times over. Nikandros unfolded it then and read the curly script. 

 

_Another horse_

_Exotic bird(s)_

_Cat_

_Big Cat_

_Cow, sheep, pig, etc._

_Dog (breed?)_

~~_Snake_ ~~

 

This was really strange. Nikandros imagined Laurent writing this list out. He cleared his throat. “So you as well,” Nikandros asked hesitantly, “like animals?” 

Laurent’s face changed shape into something resembling a mild smile, if that were possible. “Yes,” he said simply. 

“Do you—how should I put this,” a pause. Nikandros would have to word this carefully. “Are you seeking _close_ companionship?” Laurent looked at him quizzically. Nikandros suddenly grew very hot. “This animal. Would you want to…” The seconds ticked by as if they were hours. “ _Snuggle_ with it?” 

Laurent suddenly flushed bright red. Right. Nikandros decided to spare him further embarrassment and handed the parchment back over. 

“I think a cat would suit you. A domesticated one, of course,” Nikandros said.

Laurent nodded stiffly. He left the room as awkward and rigid as he had entered it. 

 

 

**Scene 2: Nikandros and Jord Run an Errand**

“I will stay with the horses?” Jord suggested, dismounting effortlessly after half a day’s ride. Nikandros nodded, leaning back and forth to stretch his back muscles. They had been journeying for two and a half days, their destination a small town in the province of Varenne, on a covert mission to retrieve and transport a very important member of state.   
****

Never mind that this member was small and covered in fur—to be tasked with such an undertaking by the King of Vere himself was an honor. Never mind that Pallas and Makedon had laughed ceaselessly at Nikandros once they found out. Never mind that Damen had as well.

Nikandros had maintained that the job could be done alone, but Laurent insisted that Jord accompany him. “For companionship,” he had said with a snakelike grin. In accordance, Jord had proven himself useful when Nikandros found himself struggling with the unique northern dialects found in the small settlements of Eastern Vere. The retrieval of the animal was to be done by Nikandros himself, since Jord had little fondness for them. 

They were on the outskirts of Decateur, a small farming town, where they would meet with a man who bred domesticated tabby cats. Why they could not snag a stray from the alleyways of the capital, Nikandros did not know, but he did not think it prudent to argue with Laurent. The farm itself was scattered with small barns and it took Nikandros three tries to find Beauchamp, the breeder. 

Unlike the other barns which were filled with farm stock, this barn was set up like a workspace, with a desk in the front for reception and cabinets presumably for filing papers. There were stacks of cages in the back and a large pen, currently empty, filled with feathers and decorative balls. Each of the cages was filled with two or three cats or kittens. He wondered which was meant for Laurent. There he was met by Beauchamp, who bowed graciously and said that he had been expecting Nikandros. He was a man of at least seventy-five, who wore the fashions of his youth. He looked pleased to be in contact with another living soul. 

“Just a few questions before we make the exchange,” Beauchamp said jovially. He picked up a stack of parchment that contained the official adoption documents where underneath was a list of prewritten questions in a very neat hand, as if written by someone who had a lot of extra time. “Is the whole family on the same page with regards to caregiving responsibilities?”

Nikandros hesitated, and then nodded soberly. This sounded like a question for anyone but him to answer. Beauchamp seemed pleased and moved on. 

“Are there any other animals in the home?” he asked. 

“Just horses, various livestock.” Beauchamp nodded cheerfully and checked off the question and muttered something about adjustment periods. 

“Is your physical space safe and ready for a pet?”

“I believe so,” said Nikandros hesitantly. 

“One can never be too careful,” advised Beauchamp. “Some houses are completely unfit for animals. Some families try to squeeze a grown animal into a home no bigger than this stable! Some try to sneak animals in against their landlords wishes.” He wheezed out a laugh as if to say _‘_ can you _believe?”_ Nikandros smiled in uncomfortable assent. “Where did you say you were headed?” 

Nikandros pointed meekly at the stack of adoption papers. “Er, the palace at Arles.”

“Oh my, yes, the palace!” said Beauchamp as he squinted at the documents. His manner sobered suddenly as if embarrassed. “My apologies. I see.” He stared at the papers for a while longer, then abruptly looked up at Nikandros breezily, all embarrassment forgotten. “Does the palace allow for animals?” A silent pause.

“Yes,” replied Nikandros, a tad exasperated. “It is for the King of Vere.”

“But you are not the King of Vere.”

Nikandros looked at him blankly. “No, I am not.” 

“We cannot hand over the animal to a stranger, you understand,” Beauchamp said regretfully.

“I am here at his command.”

“Do you have the required paperwork?” Beauchamp suggested.

“Of course.” Nikandros rooted in his jacket to produce the letter written by Laurent giving permissions to appear in his place. It was official and stamped with the King’s seal. He handed it to Beauchamp who read it thoroughly.

“I’m afraid we need proper identification.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well how am I to know you didn’t just write this yourself? The King’s hand is easy enough to mimic. Look at the swirls.” Beauchamp took his own quill and demonstrated on a loose leaf sheet of parchment. Nikandros was losing patience. “Very pretty, really.” 

“I am Nikandros, Kyros of Ios and Delpha.”

“The Kyros!” exclaimed Beauchamp with an impressed gasp. 

“Yes, the Kyros!” Nikandros cried. “I serve the King of Akielos.” Nikandros gestured to the lion pin gleaming on his breast. “That should be more than proper identification.”

Beauchamp looked as if he was thinking this over. “The King of Akielos? I thought you said you were commanded by the King of Vere.”

Nikandros cursed loudly then. “Hold on a moment—just, wait here,” he snapped as he stuck his head out of the barn door and screamed at the top of his lungs. “JORD!”

Jord was leaning against his horse with a piece of straw in his mouth. Nikandros stormed out of the barn and slammed the letter into his chest. “Take care of it,” he said. Jord just shrugged.

Later, when Jord had taken care of it, and the small grey cat was nestled in a basket on the saddlebag of Nikandros’s horse, Jord said, “She is very small.” 

Nikandros nodded. They were not even at a gallop. They wouldn’t reach the palace for three days at this rate. Oh well. “She has nice eyes,” he said. They were bright green and very big.

“I don’t like cats,” said Jord. Nikandros laughed and shook his head. 

 

 

**Scene 3: King Damianos is Injured**

Nikandros was dining with a large company of officials from both Vere and Akielos, when all of them were snapped straight to attention at the sound of furious cursing. It was their King, whose bellows could be heard even from behind the thick door to the banquet hall. Nikandros exchanged nervous glances with Jord just as a fuming Damianos came barreling in asking for water and a cloth. His hair was a tangled wreck and he was covered from head to foot in lightly bleeding scratches.

“Exalted!” Nikandros rushed to his side. “What happened to you?”

Damen was seething. “ _Aella,_ ” he ground out. 

“Apparently,” said a too familiar voice, “it means _whirlwind_.” Nikandros whipped around. Laurent was standing nonchalantly in the doorway holding the small grey cat close to his chest. She was purring loudly. “Damen named her. I wanted to call her Doux because she is so sweet.” 

“She is _not sweet,_ ” Damen countered. 

Laurent scratched under her chin. “Like honey.” 

“My skin is in ribbons!”

“Perhaps if you covered yourself,” gesturing to Damen’s short chiton.  

“Laurent.” 

“Her breed is very territorial of predators,” Laurent said, and scanned the length of him from his toes to the top of his head, where his eyes lingered. “She probably thought you were a bear.” 

A small titter broke out among the men and Damen’s face scrunched in annoyance. Nikandros tended to the small cuts on Damen’s calves, which were actually beginning to welt up and grow very angry and red. “Damen,” he said. “These actually look quite severe.” 

Makedon, in the background, barked a big laugh. “Ha, ha! She is mighty!”

Laurent sauntered over and looked down his nose at Damen’s cuts, still cradling Aella in his arms. “Hmm,” he said. Laurent could make even interjections seem eloquent. “Those,” he pointed to the thinly raised cuts, “are scratches. Those,” this time pointing to the angry raised flesh surrounding them, “are hives. I would argue exposure to dander caused hypersensitivity and urticaria.”

“What?” asked Nikandros.

“The King is allergic to cats,” said Laurent.

Damen cursed under his breath and Makedon’s laughter echoed through the hall. 

 

 

**Scene 4: Nikandros Solves a Dispute Between Nations**

Nikandros was surprised to be summoned to the throne room. His two Kings had been receiving villagers and neighboring farmers as a gesture of gratitude to the common people. He had assumed no further business would be carried out that day, but the servant who escorted him had been told that it was of the utmost urgency. 

When he entered the room, he saw Damen and Laurent, on twin thrones, talking seriously about something he could not hear. Tension ballooned in the air. There was a thin frown on Damen’s face and his eyebrows were uncharacteristically creased in frustration. Laurent—as usual—seemed unfazed and apathetic, petting Aella who was sprawled lazily on his lap. Nikandros bowed.  

“Thank you for coming,” said Laurent. “We need your counsel.” Damen shook his head vigorously, eyes wide, as if a warning to Nikandros, who tried to remain neutral. 

“I shall do my best to advise you,” he said, honorably. Laurent shot a grin at Damen. He picked up Aella and displayed her to Nikandros. He held her under her arms so that her hind legs dangled bonelessly behind her, giving the impression that she was very, very long. 

“Is this, or is this not, the most beautiful animal you have ever seen?”

Nikandros was not sure he heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“King _Damianos,_ ” Laurent articulated almost petulantly, “insists that, while beautiful, she is not the most beautiful animal that he has ever seen. Is she the most beautiful animal _you_ have ever seen?“

Nikandros hesitated. Surely Aella was very beautiful. She had lovely grey coloring, with tabby stripes and white mitten-paws. Her eyes were a beautiful bright emerald, and as she was growing, she was becoming rather statuesque and athletic. The only downside being she was clumsy and rather dumb, and preferred to use her teeth and claws to show affection. “I cannot say, Exalted.”

Laurent let out an annoyed breath, and looked upward as if cataloguing possible rebuttals. “Damen,” he said. “Would you consider her the most beautiful _feline_ you’ve ever seen?” 

Damen reached up to rub at his temple. “I don’t know, Laurent,” he sighed. 

“How about you, Nikandros?”

Nikandros felt as if he was caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t be. His eyes darted toward the door. He hemmed and hawed. “Sure,” he said finally. “That sounds fair.”

Laurent thought that over for a moment. “Right,” he said. “Well, that will be all.” With a delicate hand he shooed Nikandros away and Damen groaned into his hands. 

 

 

**Scene 5: Nikandros Opens a Door**

It was a beautiful summer’s day and Nikandros had just dismissed himself from the council to take a walk through the orchards. He was heading down the hallway towards the main entrance when he heard soft, insistent mewing from the left interior passageway. He followed the sound. 

After a few brief turns he found Aella crying in front of a door he knew to be one of the servants closets. 

“What’s wrong, little one?” he cooed down to her. He stooped to pick her up and she nestled into his chest. She immediately—albeit, lovingly—stuck her claws into the meat of his shoulder and pectoral. He scrambled, yelped, and dropped her. He cursed softly, rubbing the tender skin on his sternum. Aella circled around him, still crying pitifully at the door. 

“That’s a broom closet, Aella,” said Nikandros, insistently. Maybe she had been chasing a mouse and it slipped under the crack of the door. “There’s nothing in here, see?” And he swung the door open for proof. 

Suddenly Nikandros’s stomach dropped into his feet. He was standing face to face with Damianos of Akielos, tall and broad as ever, hands and forehead pressed up against the wall and mouth slack open. And the King of Vere, lasciviously spread on his knees with his face buried between the cheeks of Damen’s ass. Nikandros and Damen locked eyes. 

“Nikandros!” Damen shrieked, turning red as aged wine. He weaseled away from Laurent, hands flying down from above his head to (try to) cover himself. 

Laurent wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said cooly, “Hello.” Nikandros was sure he was going to die right here. “Did you need something?” 

Nikandros slammed the door shut. He stood there for several moments, frozen. “Let’s go. _Now,”_ he said to Aella who was at his feet, seemingly pleased at seeing her master, however briefly. He scooped her up and this time her claws stayed sheathed. He bolted down the hallway, shaking his head. 

 _No no no no no no no no no no no no. No._ This was not good. That was _Damianos_ and the King of _Vere_ , and well, yes, of course— _obviously_ —they were lovers, Nikandros knew, everyone knew, and of course he had seen Damen naked before, _everyone had_ , and as boys they had even—but that wasn’t the point!

He turned a sharp corner and ran into Jord, almost knocking all three of them to the ground. “Don’t go down there!” He warned. Jord looked at him, mystified. He probably seemed deranged. There was a moment of awkward silence. “I am going for a walk,” he said, gripping Aella tighter. “In the orchards.”

Jord shrugged and followed him outside.

 

 

**Scene 6: Nikandros Climbs a Ladder**

“Aella is in a tree.”

Nikandros was finding that a lot of his conversations of late were starting abruptly and with little sense. “I am sorry,” he said. 

“I need you to retrieve her,” said Laurent, lazily examining his cuticles. “You are tall.”

“Damen is taller.” 

“Damen is terribly allergic. If he so much as touches her he breaks out in hives.” Laurent made a twisty face. “It is quite gruesome,” he said. “And… inconvenient.” 

Nikandros resisted an uncomfortable grimace. 

The ladder Laurent provided was rickety at best and Nikandros found himself scrambling for balance on more than one occasion. He could see Aella clinging unsteadily to the top branch of the tallest orange tree on the grounds. She had somehow managed to wind up on an isolated branch with no means of escape. Laurent was at his feet, holding a padded basket, and looking slightly worried. The way he bit his lip betrayed his anxiety and Nikandros found that rather delightfully surprising. When Laurent realized Nikandros was looking at him his face returned to the cool expressionless placidity. Laurent raised his eyebrows.

“I can see up your skirt,” he said. 

Nikandros flushed at that, but abstained from throwing a snarky response. 

Even with the ladder, Aella was just out of reach. Once he got to the highest rung, Nikandros examined the options. He climbed his way up the branches, choosing only the sturdiest, until she was within arms’ length. He reached out for her but she shied away, only inching forward when Laurent began to coo sweetly at her from below. He was able to wrap his hands around her belly. She immediately stiffened and squirmed. 

For every second he held her in his arms, he suffered at least ten scratches and bites. With all the struggling, Nikandros was barely able to maneuver himself back onto the ladder. He descended a few rungs and passed Aella to Laurent who was standing there with outstretched arms. Nikandros hopped off and began to examine the damage her claws had done. 

Laurent was stroking Aella and she purred handsomely. “Wait,” he said to Nikandros just as he was turning to make his excuses. He handed Nikandros the forgotten basket. “I figured you could pick some,” he said, pointing to the oranges on the highest branch. “Since we got the ladder out.”  

 

 

**Scene 7: Nikandros Accepts an Invitation**

Nikandros had been signing multiple copies of the same treaties for what seemed like hours. The only reason it had been taking so long was because every time the feathered plume of his quill wiggled, Aella would pounce on him and smudge the ink. He was running out of copies. He had tried to set her on the floor beside him, but she only jumped back up onto the desk, knocking something over in the process. He tried shutting her out of the room, but she only whined and meowed until a servant had let her back in.

Because of King Damianos’s frequent trips to Paschal’s hospital wing, Aella had henceforth been banned from the Kings’ wing of rooms. While she spent most of her time with Laurent during the day, since she had started sleeping in Nikandros’s chambers she more often sought his company. He had small red scratches all over his hands, arms, and legs. There was a price to pay for her affections, undeniably. He dipped his quill in the ink. 

“Be nice to me, please,” he quietly entreated. 

He touched his pen to the paper and bean to sign his name, never taking his eyes off Aella, who was shaking her rear back and forth, ready to pounce. “Don’t even think about—“

She pounced. 

“Gah!” he cried, just as one of Laurent servants came in and handed him a piece of parchment with Laurent’s seal. He tore it open and saw three loopy lines. 

_There is an urgent matter of state. My men will collect you. Dress well._

Nikandros was suddenly filled with worry that he would be shuttled to the neighboring country, dressed in an elaborate disguise, and he was suddenly wondering if he should pack a bag. He decided against the traditional chiton in favor of a more road friendly pair of trousers. While in Vere he had grown somewhat fond of the more conservative dress, especially when mounting a horse and in the colder months. He combed his hair back and straightened his shirt and waited for Laurent’s men to retrieve him. He hoped there would be food because he was starting to get hungry. Aella was playing with the tassels on his belt when the servants arrived.

They looked him over, taking in his appearance. One of them straightened the lion pin adorning his left shoulder. They nodded as if this was as good as it was going to get. They motioned for him to follow. The attendants had brought Aella a dish of roasted fish. Laurent really had taken care of everything. Nikandros gave Aella a pat on the head and followed the servants who led him through the palace. Surprisingly, they were not headed toward the throne room or even the banquet hall. 

As time passed, Nikandros realized he was being taken to a garden that he knew both Damen and Laurent favored. They would often retreat there after the day’s work and get lost in the mazes of hedgerow. There had been many times he had been looking for one of them and then found them lazily holding hands under the awnings of laurel. 

The evening was mild with a slight breeze so that the perfume of the jasmine and frangipani tickled his nose. It was unlike the heavy humidity of Delpha where the hot scents of flora would grow heavy and sweet like fruit. 

They made their way into the center of the garden. Nikandros would have to remember the twists and turns that brought him here. The sun was beginning to set but he could see the glimmer of a torch guiding their way. They reached the center where someone had set up a beautiful table-scape. There were glass bottles of wine and exotic fruits, breads, and in the center, a roast chicken stuffed with oranges—Nikandros did not doubt they were the very ones he had picked a few days before. The table was scattered with fresh flowers and lit by delicate candlelight. Most surprisingly, Nikandros observed, was that there were only two chairs. 

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and suddenly all his questions were answered. Two of Damen’s servants emerged from around the awning opposite him. And behind them, Jord.

The set up was abundantly clear. The servants nodded politely and retreated into the hedge and out of sight. Nikandros rocked on his feet while Jord looked around absently. He was smartly dressed in a dark green jacket that had been laced expertly. No doubt Damen’s servants, or perhaps Damen himself, had advised him on his hair, whose short length had been meticulously tousled in the Akielon style. Nikandros felt he wanted desperately to laugh. 

Jord’s lips pressed into a serious line, as if he had suddenly come to an important decision, and he walked resolutely over to the table and sat down. He picked up a carving knife and pulled the platter of roast chicken closer toward him. 

“You prefer white meat, yes?” he asked.

Nikandros nodded with a small smile and joined him at the table. 

Later that evening when they tumbled into Nikandros’s chambers, they were met with a rude sight. 

“Aella!” Nikandros shouted, taking in the disarray. She had scattered every document on his desk, torn the curtains to absolute shreds. Apparently, she had had a dangerous duel with a pillow because the room was covered in feathers. They heard a soft meow and Aella was there, purring and rubbing against their legs. “Bad girl,” Nikandros admonished, while Jord laughed openly. He had a deep, sweet laugh. Nikandros wondered if he’d ever heard it before tonight. “She must have been angry to be left alone.”

Jord knelt down and picked her up. She nuzzled his jaw. “That’s alright,” he said. “She’ll stay with us.” He turned toward the door, shooting a sharp, bright look Nikandros’s way. “Well, come on.”

Nikandros smiled. “I thought you hated cats.” 

“She is growing on me,” said Jord. 

 

 

**Scene 8: Nikandros Eavesdrops**

Nikandros was walking in the gardens when suddenly he heard shouting. For a moment he tensed and readied himself to break up an altercation when he recognized Damen’s voice.

“This has gotten quite out of hand. She tore down Pallas’s chiton in the middle of a ceremony!”

“I can’t imagine anyone complained.” Ah, Laurent. Any remaining worry had disappeared at the sound of that voice. Nikandros himself wanted to shout at Laurent at least once every day. Nikandros backed up against the hedge so as not to be seen. 

“He was very embarrassed,” Damen said. 

“Then perhaps you Akielons would fare better to fasten your clothes with something more than a single brooch.” 

Nikandros could hear Damen heave a deep sigh. “She has too much energy,” he said. “You are too busy to keep her occupied at every turn.” 

“Maybe if she had a companion…” Laurent’s voiced trailed off. 

“No, no, _NO—_ not this again, Laurent. I said—“

“What do you think, Nikandros?” called Laurent. Nikandros froze. Oh no, caught out. He slowly rounded the hedgerow where he found Damen, who was posed for war, Aella, who was chewing on Damen’s sandal, and Laurent who was smiling at them both. “Don’t you think she needs a friend?”

All three of them looked at him expectantly.

 

**The End**

 

 

 

**Deleted Scene (Damen is a pushover, takes place before scene 3)**

Damen had always believed he had a high tolerance for nonsense. He was fairly easy-going and supportive too, loyal to the end. This honest devotion was something he had cultivated in youth and treasured in himself, and in his partnership with Laurent.

However, this was ridiculous. 

“I think it’s rather handsome, don’t you?” Laurent mused.

“It’s heinous.”

Laurent looked at him dismissively. “I shall tell Charls you said so.” 

“It’s not the _quality of the fabric_ that I take issue with,” retorted Damen.

Laurent was holding in front of him a jacket of fine Veretian cloth embroidered with curling fleur-de-lis. The laces were made from pure mulberry silk, finer even than Laurent’s own austere costume. There was a matching set of pale blue trousers. The only problem being that this ensemble was in miniature. It was for Laurent’s cat. 

“There is a hole in the seat,” Damen said.

“For the tail,” said Laurent, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

They stared at each other like that. Damen was sure he had the most ludicrous expression plastered across his face. He knew what was about to come, and the worst part was that he was rarely able to refuse Laurent anything. Sometimes he really hated that about himself. 

As if Damen were a soothsayer, Laurent opened his mouth and said breezily, “Well?” A devious grin. “Attend her.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come see me on [tumblr.](http://shoulderpadutopia.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, [this photo](http://demilked2.uuuploads.com/the-hermitage-court-cats-eldar-zakirov/the-hermitage-court-cats-eldar-zakirov-4.jpg) was my inspiration for this whole thing. Ugh.


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